There are those days. There are those days you cling to the edge with white-tight knuckles and you email a friend just so she can keep you afloat. Today is one of those days.
Because we try to balance everything, but I’m just not sure balance exists in the way I would hope. So then there are those days I have to remember to breathe.
But God breathes for us. Our souls still in the silent, in-between spaces.
I’m honored to be sharing some of my story with the Florida Christian Writer’s Conference blog this afternoon. Words I wrote weeks ago, but words I needed to hear again as God whispers quietly that He is my breath. He is my air. He is my stillness.
The following is an excerpt, but I’d be ever-so grateful if you’d click on over?
The house where I grew up had steps leading down to our backyard gate. It was my hiding place. Quiet and cool under the willow shade that made Momma shake her finger at Daddy for planting it so close to the house.
I loved it.
In that space I would dream. I would write. Stories of girlish dreams—teenage angsty things. But never once did I allow the dream of author to seep into my soul.
Even as a writing major at Florida State, I never considered writing as something I would actually do. I chose the major because it was the end of my junior year and an advisor said—PICK SOMETHING.
So I did….